


blurring the lines between real and the fake

by orphan_account



Series: we're on a quick, sick rampage [5]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bittybones (Undertale), Bitty Death, Bitty Torture, Bitty abuse, Madness, Other, Psychological Horror, Sleep Deprivation, Soft Bones Bitty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 16:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18663958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You win a Soft Bones bitty as a prize for doing well at work. It gets worse from there.





	blurring the lines between real and the fake

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Russian Sleep Experiment creepypasta. This is a little less straightforward torture than my other stories, and to be honest I'm freaked out I wrote it, but this was my idea for how to abuse a Soft Bones. I promise I'll go back to being mean to Blueberry soon.

You stopped at the red light closest to your house, letting out a long sigh and shifting uncomfortably in your work clothes. You loved your job, you really did, but the suits you could have done without. The quarterly company luncheon was even worse than the suits, and this one had lasted for four hours before they let everyone go home. 

You shouldn’t complain, you thought, since you did have the highest billing average for the quarter, and all the senior partners knew your name now. You would complain, though, because of the prize this time. See, usually, the prize for the associate with the highest numbers was something like a vacation package, or some gift certificates, or even a raise. This time…

You braked in front of your small house, causing the small plastic box in your passenger seat to tumble roughly to the floor of the car. A small knocking noise came from within, and it brought a sort of satisfaction to your face. A sense of justice, maybe.

This time, the prize for the highest billing associate was a _fucking_ BittyBones. “Oh, these are all the rage right now!” your officemate had said.

“You’re so lucky!” said your secretary.

“Um…” you had said.

You couldn’t have just said you didn’t want the thing, because then you’d look ungrateful and upset whichever partner had had this brilliant idea. No, you had to smile, and accept the carrier, and act like you were pleased as punch. You didn’t want another pet. You HAD a cactus, and he was your pride and joy, and you did not have the time or the inclination to take care of another animal. _This little animal in particular_ , you mentally grumbled, as you picked up the carrier and your purse and headed inside.

Once the door was shut behind you, you breathed out for what felt like the first time that day. You put your items down on the kitchen island, stepped out of your heels, and took off your blazer. _Much better_. You turned toward the washer and dryer to get some comfortable lounging clothes to change into, and were busily digging to find your favorite sweatpants when you heard the knocking sound again.

“Uh… excuse me…” sounded a tiny voice.

 _Fuuuuuuck, it’s awake_. You did not want to deal with the bitty right now, you really didn’t, but it wasn’t going to shut up until you did something. You abandoned your search for the sweatpants and came back to look inside the carrier. The tiny skeleton was standing, and you took in its appearance. It was about as tall as your hand from wrist to fingers, and had glowing yellow eyes. It was dressed in a sweatshirt with a night sky print, blue pants, and purple socks. It was pretty ugly, you thought, suppressing a shudder. Why would anyone want a pet that was as hard and cold as bones?

Despite all those thoughts, you answered him. “What?”

“Are you… going to let me out, mommy?” You rolled your eyes at the ridiculous moniker, but ignored it. You’d read up on these things for a case involving bitty abuse, and they were apparently just hard-wired to see their owners as parental figures. In fact, bitties were pretty much designed to be abused, because they formed some sort of “bond” to their owner within days of bringing one home. This bond made them love the owner unconditionally, and always seek their approval, no matter what the owner did to the little skeleton. Speaking of little skeletons…

“I guess I have to,” you sighed, and took the vented lid off of the carrier. Immediately, your nose was assaulted with an eye-watering vanilla scent. If you’d had to compare it to something, it was like walking into a Bath and Body Works where nothing but the “warm vanilla sugar” scents were being sold, and you couldn’t be surprised when you sneezed. “What _is_ that?” you said between sneezes, digging in your purse for your nasal spray. That provided some relief, and then you looked at the packet of pages you’d been given with your new… friend.

_BittyBones – Soft Bones Type._

  * _Sleeps a lot!_
  * _Smells really nice!_
  * _Very cute!_
  * _Loves you a lot!_
  * _Don’t lose him!_



_Well, that was not at all informative_ , you thought, pulling up Google and typing in “soft bones bitty smell.” Sure enough, this particular type of bitty was specifically designed to give off a sweet scent, making it popular with children. You, meanwhile, could taste the cloying artificial sugary odor on your tongue, and you wanted to gag. Now that you’d worked out that the nasty smell was in fact coming from the bitty, you put the lid back on and retreated a few paces. “I can’t deal with that smell,” you said, loudly enough for him to hear. “Can you do something about that?”

“N-no,” he answered, “I’m supposed to smell as sweet as my personality! That’s what they said at the bitty shop! No one ever said I smelled bad before.” The Soft Bones looked pretty sad, but you were too busy blowing your nose to care.

“Okay, look. I’m going to be honest with you, I really didn’t expect to be getting a bitty, and I really don’t know what to do with you. You’re going to have to stay in there until we figure something out, because I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to you. Got it, Softy?”

His eyes grew bright, and you mentally kicked yourself. He thought you were giving him a name, and he was happy. You couldn’t be near him without having this horrible reaction, so you couldn’t even contemplate keeping him. “Yes, mommy! Only…”

“What now?” you said, just wanting to go change clothes and lie down.

“I’m hungry.” You grabbed the small baggie of food that your employers had given you with this wonderful prize, and shook some kibbles into your hand. You opened the lid as fast as possible, dumped the food inside, and then slapped the lid back on.

“Are you good now?” you asked, feeling another sneeze coming on.

 “Yes…” you heard, muffled by Softy stuffing his face.

You left the kitchen and went to your bedroom, putting on a random t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that were nowhere near your favorites. It didn’t matter, you needed to lay down and let your allergy medicine take effect. You spent some time on your cell phone, trying to find out if there was a way to deodorize the bitty, at least until you could return him to wherever your employer had purchased him. Unfortunately for you, the internet was full of people gushing over how lovely the smell of a Soft Bones was, and absolutely no one who had your problem. You did find out, though, that the smell was apparently produced when the bitty slept.

That was easy enough, then, you thought with a toothy grin. You’d just have to keep him awake until Monday, and then you could find out where he came from discreetly, and take him right back there.

____________

 

Saturday saw you awake bright and early, and Softy passed out in the carrier in the kitchen. You made yourself a cup of coffee and drank it while tapping your finger against the plastic wall. “Hey, wake up.”

“Wha… oh… Mommy?” The bitty came awake slowly, rubbing his eyes and blinking at you blearily.

“Give me your clothes,” you said, gesturing at yourself.

 “Wha-what?” his little voice quavered. 

“Your clothes. Take them off and give them to me,” you repeated. When he hesitated, you raised your voice a little. “NOW, please.”

 Softy whimpered, and began to undress. You didn’t see what he was so concerned about, since he was nothing but bones. When he was divested of all of his clothing, you reached into the carrier as fast as you could, grabbed the clothes (which stank even worse of cloying sugar), and threw them into your washing machine. You poured in far too much detergent, and then set it on a heavy cycle. Then, you returned your attention to the bitty, who was trembling and trying to cover himself. “Look, here’s the deal.”

Softy fidgeted around, but was otherwise silent.

“I cannot stand that smell, so you can’t stay here, but I can’t bring you back until Monday. You make that smell when you fall asleep, so you’re going to have to stay awake until you’re back where you belong,” you explained, holding up the supplies you’d selected.

“But… but…” Softy tried to protest, almost whining.

You held up a hand to silence him. “I don’t really care,” you said, “and if you have such a problem with it, you can sleep out in the yard, with no carrier.”

 He whimpered again, and shut his mouth.

Back to the first line of defense for your sinuses. First, you whipped the lid off of the carrier again, and then lifted up the bottle of linen-scent Febreze you kept on hand. You sprayed inside the plastic box liberally, coating all of the walls and Softy himself in the liquid, and then just kept spraying. The bitty coughed and choked on the air inside, hacking to try to clear the taste from his mouth. _Now he knew how you felt_ , you thought, watching him slip around on the wet floor and struggle to breathe (why did he need to breathe, anyway?). He was crying, you noted distantly, and you wondered if you should feel bad. The smell was greatly lessened, though, which was a vast improvement.

“Okay,” you said to no one, picking up the bitty for the first time, and placing him on a towel to dry off the excess spray. “That helps.”

“I don’t like that, Mommy!” Softy spluttered from your hand, but you shrugged and put him down on the counter.

“It’s this or you can take your chances with the neighborhood cats,” you said, picking up the next item in your arsenal. The Febreze was really mostly about stopping the smell already there, while this was about keeping him awake. You’d read that Soft Bones were pretty much always ready to sleep, so you weren’t taking any chances of whatever organs made the odor lighting up again.

Softy didn’t even have time to protest before you dropped him into a secondary mug of coffee. Once he hit the liquid, though, he protested plenty, and tried to climb out. You uncurled his fingers from the sides of the mug and submerged his head with your finger “Owie! It’s hot, Mommy!” he complained.

 Okay, maybe you should have put an ice cube in it, but this was highly-caffeinated stuff and you didn’t want to water it down. As it was, the coffee would cool down shortly, and then he could stop complaining. “Stay in there,” you answered, “it’ll keep you from sleeping.”

 You left him soaking in the coffee while you checked your email, until it grew completely cold, and Softy started to shiver. Then you plucked him from the cup and set him back in the carrier. “That should work for now. I have to go to the store. If you go to sleep, we’re going to have a problem.”

A slurred, whiny “okay” was the only response.

____________

 

When you returned, you were pleased to see that Softy was still awake, although he seemed to be nodding off. “Nope, nope, nope,” you mumbled, reaching into the carrier and getting out your purchases. You’d bought extra-strength caffeine patches, caffeine pills, and a large bottle of cold-brew coffee, and hoped that would be sufficient. You snatched him up from the carrier, and immediately started sticking caffeine patches to his skull. When that real estate was taken, you wrapped one around each of his legs and arms, and said, “Wake up!”

He opened his eyes groggily, and then jumped as though startled. Maybe since he didn’t have skin, the patches were working much faster. “Mommy! You’re here!” he near-shouted, rubbing his bones against your palm. “I missed you!” Were you seeing things, or was he blushing yellow-orange?

You felt something wet against your hand, and grimaced. Apparently, too much caffeine triggered heats (another fun topic you’d read about), and little Softy had formed a pussy, which he humped against your skin enthusiastically. For a few seconds, you were just astounded, and vaguely horrified that anyone would sell pets that did… this. “Ahhhh, ahh, Mommyyyyyy…” Softy moaned, and apparently had an orgasm just from grinding himself against one of your fingers, since there was suddenly a lot more liquid involved. Luckily for your sinuses, at least it didn’t smell like anything.

You weren’t particularly interested in helping Softy get off, though, and dug through your junk drawer one-handed to find your trusty roll of duct tape. You had both of his ankles taped to one of the sides of the carrier before he even noticed you were doing anything, and by the time he realized you weren’t touching him anymore, his hands were taped down, too. “Mommy? Why did you do that?” he panted, still squirming and wiggling his hips in a futile attempt to gain friction.

 “Because you’re a needy little annoyance, and I am not going to sit here for the next… however long this stuff lasts… trying to pleasure you,” you answered. “I don’t really care if you feel good, and I have work I need to do. You can stay there and wait for it to stop, and I can actually get something accomplished today.”

Softy yowled like an anguished cat, twisting and turning to try to get free, but he was weak and duct tape was strong. You walked away and put your headphones in, and had a very productive two hours before you decided that maybe you should check in on the bitty.

He was still flushed orangeish yellow, and the genitals were still present and dripping fluid. When he caught sight of you, he tipped his head back and moaned wordlessly, humping the air. He was awake, then. “Oh, Mommy, please,” he whimpered, “please fuck me, I need it." 

With all those caffeine patches on him, he wasn’t falling asleep anytime soon. You turned away and went back to your computer.

Another two hours passed, and the sun went down. You microwaved yourself some leftovers, tuning out the panting bitty on your counter, and ate with the TV volume turned way up. 

At midnight, you walked back into the kitchen, deciding it was probably time to change out the patches and feed him. You were pleased to see that he was no longer squirming and had stopped moaning, instead staring at the ceiling. The pussy and thighs made of ecto-flesh had not disappeared, but nothing was actively dripping. “Well then,” you said, peeling Softy away from the cage wall. “That’s better.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy!” he cried, hugging your thumb tightly. You winced as his ribs dug into you. “I didn’t mean to, I won’t do it again!”

“I know you won’t,” you said, removing and replacing the caffeine patches on his head, arms, and legs. You added an extra on his ribs for good measure. “Now, if you eat your food, I’ll give you your clothes back.”

His eyes lit up again, and you set up a dish with more bitty kibble, mixed with several caffeine pills you’d crushed into powder. He tucked in ravenously, having apparently exhausted himself with all that sexual energy. When he had finished, you dressed him in the soft little outfit he came to you with, and couldn’t help but smile. He was almost cute when he wasn’t making your eyes water with his scent. “Okay, I’m going to bed,” you told him, placing him back into the plastic cube and leaving the bright kitchen lights on. “You just stay there.” 

“Mommy, can’t I sleep with you?” he begged, raising his arms to be held.

 “You’re not going to sleep at all,” you reminded him, leaving the room.

____________

 

The next morning, Sunday, while you were making your coffee, you noticed that Softy wasn’t looking too good. His face looked grey and haggard, and had several abrasions you didn’t remember from before. He’d taken his socks off, and they were shredded into a little pile in the corner. He was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest and shaking, staring at absolutely nothing while rocking back and forth. “Mom… Mommy…” he muttered, noticing you. You couldn’t blame him for being out of it; his breed apparently slept about twenty hours a day, and he hadn’t slept since Friday night.

 Even so, this was the only way you could manage without outright killing him, so you set up another coffee bath (cold, this time) and removed the caffeine patches to place him in the cup. Softy shook so hard he almost knocked the mug over, and tried to clamber out multiple times, but he seemed past talking. When you dried him off, he began to beg. “Please… Mommy… let me sleep,” he whispered. “I feel so weird… please let me sleep…” He blinked rapidly, seemingly terrified of something, and raised his voice. “PLEASE! I need to sleep!”

You said nothing, replaced the caffeine patches with fresh ones and dressed him again. You’d need to step it up, or he’d overcome the stimulants and fall asleep. Maybe… Yes, that would do.

You found your old pair of over-ear headphones and hooked them up to your stereo system, setting them to play the loudest metal music you could find. Your trusty duct tape came in handy again, as you taped Softy’s torso to one earphone, ensuring that his skull was centered where the music came out. You went back to work on your laptop with your back to him, but you didn’t put your own headphones in. You could barely hear the metal from your position across the room, but you were sure the bitty could, and you tapped your pen with the drums as you worked. Several hours later, you turned to look at Softy, and were shocked for not the first time that weekend.

He was crying, screaming wordlessly, and thrashing around like something was hurting him. You didn’t see anything that would be causing him pain, and approached cautiously. “MOMMY!” he shouted, rolling himself toward your feet. “HELP ME!”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, moving away from Softy’s kicking legs. “There’s nothing wrong.”

“NONONONO—MOMMY—PLEASE HELP ME THEY’RE COMING!” The bitty seemed absolutely terrified, yelling the loudest you’d ever heard him, and kicking so hard he flipped himself over, headphones and all. Against your better judgment, you removed the tape and set him on the carpet. He began wailing and scratching at his eye sockets, running in a circle, and otherwise absolutely freaking the hell out. You’d known long periods without sleep could be bad for a human’s psyche, but you didn’t think two days would drive a bitty off the edge. Softy ran to your ankle once he noticed you standing there, and dug his bony fingers into your leg. “MOMMYMOMMYMOMMY HELP ME!”

You had no idea what to do with that. You took a deep breath, peeled Softy from where he’d grasped your pants, and walked him back over to the carrier. “Stop that,” you said crossly, irritated that your brilliant plan suddenly wasn’t working out anymore. “Stop it right now, or you’re going outside.”

Softy stared up at you from your hand, face now scratched up and eyes flickering eerily. “Mommy,” he whispered creepily, “I love you.” He then was quiet for several moments, before letting out a wordless “AAAAAAHHHHHH!” that did not end.

You didn’t remember grabbing your keys and throwing Softy into the carrier. You did remember turning the radio up loud to drown out the screaming, and you remembered stopping at a stop sign to see the bitty’s mouth dripping blood—he must have ruptured whatever allowed him to speak, because he was silent after that, mouth open wide and nothing coming out.

You remembered setting your GPS to take you to the nearest BittyBones shelter, and leaving the car running while you deposited the carrier outside. They’d find him in the morning, and it would be fine, you thought as you drove home. You took two Benadryl to fall asleep, and did not dream of anything that night. Monday morning, told your nosy co-workers that an unfortunate allergy issue meant that sweet little Softy had to go back to the store. 

____________

 

Monday morning, bright and early, the friendly proprietor of the BittyBones shelter found the carrier containing Softy right in front of the door. His eyes were wide open, with a strange look she’d never seen before, and he was clawing at the walls and—was he trying to shout? She couldn’t hear anything. Maybe he was yawning? No... with that expression, he was screaming.

White stickers covered his head, and she resolved to make a more thorough inspection inside. She took the carrier indoors, and opened the lid on the front desk. The sweet, candy-like smell that ordinarily accompanied a Soft Bones was absent, and she noted that the bitty’s sweatshirt was dirtied with… was that dried blood?

The bitty himself didn’t seem to see anything at all, and took no time to gain his bearings before running, kamikaze-style, directly off the edge of the desk and crashing to the floor. The shelter manager gasped and tried to catch him, a little too late. She looked on in horror at the broken body of the Soft Bones, but only had a moment to think of what to do before he exploded into dust.

**Author's Note:**

> If you ever have any ideas for how to mess with a bitty, please leave a comment below! Reviews are my lifeblood.


End file.
